


Cheese, Please!

by AnnEllspethRaven, Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Cooking, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Wine is RedCheese is BlueGarlic SmellsAnd So Will...(Hint: It's not Fin.)





	Cheese, Please!

**Author's Note:**

> From Zhie: Several nights ago, AnnEllspethRaven asked to borrow the boys and asked a few questions about cooking and pet names, and suddenly, a thing happened. I jumped on board the thing, added a few things, we poked at it a bit, and here is the thing, darlings. 
> 
> This happens not too far after 'You Are My Sunshine' in the Bunniverse.

“I really have to stop oversleeping,” Glorfindel muttered to himself, rubbing at his eyes. It was only the second time this week, but it was still a great annoyance not to have the sweet morning moments, from sunrise stretches to farewell kisses before the long day alone. Fingon and Erestor had been gone long enough that only the sad, rubbery remains of porridge sat in the cooking-pot. They had left him a few slices of apple, and a scant handful of raisins. Not really being of a mind to either be wasteful or cook another serving, he mashed it all together as best he could and added a little milk. Outside the cottage, in the morning sun of a summer’s fine day, he distracted himself from the realities of his breakfast by looking at the braids of garlic drying against the shade of the outdoor wall. Erestor’s little summer garden had done quite well, and he felt proud of his dear friend’s achievement.

“I wonder…” He had little enough else to do today, only having meant to care for some cleaning and cooking while the others worked at the library. Given that Erestor could barely boil an egg without unfavorable results, he certainly would manage nothing creative with that garlic. Fingon was far better when it came to preparation of food, but from the delicacies that Glorfindel had sampled, Fingon leaned far more sweet than savory. Mint, lemon zest, rosemary, and saffron were the staples of Fingon’s spice rack, so it was doubtful he would feel encroached upon if the garlic was not saved for him to use. So very many of the plump heads sat there, and down below were ones that had been slightly damaged and could not be added to the braids. Perhaps a treat for tonight? Slowly a plan formed under the golden head of bouncy curls, but it would involve starting now.

The walk to the market was long but pleasant, though he sincerely hoped he would not manage to catch sight of Faelion. This hope ran so strong that he lingered back for a time, carefully surveying the stalls and who shopped at them, before nudging himself forward. That there was little to be done about the unkind treatment he had received, from one formerly so cherished, did not erase the sting of the memory. Being the ‘better elf’ could feel like small consolation, at times. Reassuring himself that his mild paranoia was baseless, he moved forward to seek out what he came for--ingredients. A freshly baked and generously sized batard loaf would suit perfectly; a tap to the side of the one that went into his basket gave a most satisfactory hollow echo. And some extra butter; oil they had at the cottage aplenty. A faint blush spread over his cheeks at the reason their household used more than the usual amount, but he was hardly complaining.

On days when he had the time, he would stay to have lunch and listen to the minstrels. It had not taken long to discover that the few bits he saved by buying raw sausages or bacon to take home for his solitary meals were hardly worth the time he gained by cooking one less time each day (not to mention the waste of wood in summer). In a household where cows, lambs, and pigs were considered friends and not food, his opportunities for hearty beef stew or braised coney were few and far between. Today there was no time to pause at one of the wooden benches and eat a sticky bun topped with caramel and crumbled nuts or to play a game of checkers with Cirdan and gossip about the comings and goings of visitors to the island. Glorfindel hastily purchased a steaming meat pie, which he wrapped in a cloth from his basket and tucked aside for later.

“What is….that?” Glorfindel asked the next seller. He had seen this ellon before; the cheesemaker, but not this particular offering. “Is it supposed to look like that? Moldy?”

“Ohhh that is not *just* moldy, Lord Glorfindel. That is a delicacy, requiring at least two months to ripen adequately. The other, these ordinary farm cheeses…” he made a noise of disdain. “Here. Try this small bite. Robust, complex flavor. Sharp, delicious, and a fine compliment to wines and breads.”

“Well...it does taste good,” the blond admitted, frowning at the price. And yet, a little would go a long way, and this was for a special treat…. “That smaller wedge, please. This will star in tonight’s meal.” Feeling pleased with himself, he debated buying anything more...no. The damaged garden tomatoes, some of the herbs….wait. Butter. He needed a little more butter, to do this properly.

A few minutes later, Glorfindel congratulated himself on both only purchasing three items and not encountering Faelion. All in all, a grand success. As his feet carried him home, it was difficult to set aside all thoughts on the past, in view of where their future might lead. So very many things happened, in the long life of an elf; and yet lately, there had been happiness. Peace of heart. More of these good things, than in many times past. How he hoped it would endure...he shook off any further thoughts of this kind, in favor of how he hoped to see especially Erestor enjoying his treat. He could not recall where he had had it before; only that it had been a delight. Perhaps it was Gondor; it was one of the few places he had lived without Erestor there, and he was certain he would have insisted Erestor try it had he been there. Garlic bread, they had called it, laden with generous amounts of both roasted and minced fresh bulbs, soaked through with melted butter and piping hot, and finished with a topping of cheese heated to bubbling in a warm oven. This was to be dipped into a succulent tomato sauce...the perfect meal.

*****

“Fin, what are you cooking? We could smell it from a half mile out. You will be the death of me; there was not time for eating all day.”

Fingon rolled his eyes at Erestor. “You mean, there was not time because you would not stop to make the time. All the day he eluded me, too, knowing what fuss I would make to find he had not eaten.”

“I take exception to that,” the dark elf glowered.

“Of course you do, cupcake.” Fingon was having none of Erestor’s crabbiness or his posturing, and simply smothered him in a hug and kisses. “You have such a terrible boss - the way he carries on about your well-being.”

“Oh, stop.” Erestor rolled his eyes, but he leaned in and appeared to relax.

Satisfied for the time being with his handling of Erestor, Fingon continued to nuzzle the eldest while he addressed the youngest. “You were saying?”

“Garlic bread and tomato sauce,” Glorfindel interjected before Erestor could sharpen his tongue again. “Why not wash up now? It will be ready quite soon.”

The playful swat Fingon delivered to Erestor’s bottom to send him toward the washroom elicited a glance of envy from Glorfindel. Fingon missed nothing. “You want one too?”

“If it does not make me spill the sauce then...yes.” Glorfindel shivered slightly at the gentle pat that was far more of a caress, and the kiss to his cheek.

“I missed you. Did you have a nice day?”

After a moment’s reflection, Glorfindel nodded. “They are almost all nice days, now,” he said softly, smiling with love. “I have both of you.”

An unusually vigorous splashing sound reached their ears. “That did not sound good,” they chorused. Fingon dutifully left to see what was the matter.

“Erestor, what are you--?”

SPLORSH.

The one time High King of the Noldor now stood dripping in the doorway, soaked hair draining onto his vest and the long sleeves of his shirt, which he used to instinctively wipe at his wet nose. His leggings did not receive reprieve, for they, too, were now damp.

“There was a centipede,” the dark elf explained in a small voice. He reached out to push a dripping lock of dark hair to the side so that it was not blocking Fingon’s view. “Sorry.”

Fingon blinked. They all had their assorted...issues. Phobias. And unfortunately for his clothing, centipedes were Erestor’s. “Is it gone now?” he asked kindly, looking around carefully for evidence of what was no doubt a rather diminutive arthropod.

Erestor nodded. “I am sorry,” he repeated, offering a towel he scrambled to retrieve from the shelf.

“It was an accident.” Fingon blotted at himself with the towel, but only on his way to giving Erestor a big hug. He slid a bit on his right foot, for the puddle was all around him, and he did his best not to transfer the mishap to Erestor’s robes. “Did you name the centipede?” he asked.

“Nothing I can repeat in polite company,” Erestor answered as he took hold of the towel and patted the wettest looking parts of Fingon’s vest.

“Curse the centipede all you want. I do not mind. Glorfindel, do you mind?” called out Fingon. Glorfindel answered in the negative. “I am not going to lie. Centipedes are one of my top thirty cringeworthy creatures. I think you were well within your legal rights to attempt assassination by drowning.”

“You are always so nice to me,” Erestor murmured. “You both are.”

“DINNER,” bellowed Glorfindel from the kitchen. He had worked all day on this, and it was perfection. Candles were lit and wine was poured as his companions returned. He pulled out the chair for Erestor, not yet noticing the state of Fingon. “Here you go, ‘Ress. I had this once a long time ago, and the cheese was a special at the market today. I hope you like it.” A kiss was placed at the crown of his head. Only then did he see what had transpired between the two dearest people in his life. “What…?”

Fingon held up a hand and shook his head, towel around his shoulders, and mouthed the word ‘Later’. With a puzzled nod, Glorfindel sat down to eat.

At first, Erestor simply complimented the meal. He could be hard to read sometimes, and was not often effusive. When the dark beauty reached for seconds, Glorfindel felt complimented. This was a sure sign that he truly liked the food. Then came thirds, which constituted lavish praise. At fourths, Fingon looked mildly concerned. Erestor rarely ate so much, and yet he did appear to be slowing down a little. In the end (whether it was fifths or sixths no one knew; they had lost count), there was one little slice remaining, and Erestor eyed it much like it was the last orc left to slaughter on a battlefield.

“You do not have to eat--” Glorfindel’s words were cut off, as Erestor snatched the last piece.

“Do not make yourself sick,” cautioned Fingon.

Erestor breathed deeply, holding the crust end with reverence. “Not going to. Too delicious.” He bit into the bread and paused a moment, and it was difficult to tell whether he was savoring the final morsels, or attempting to adjust what was already stuffed into his stomach to make room for these last lovely bites. “Must finish…”

Glorfindel beamed with happiness. If anything he had ever prepared had been received this well by Erestor, he could not recall what it was. Especially at the end, when he leaned his head back, replete and sated. His raven hair flowed luxuriously over the chair as a groan of contentment escaped the milky white throat. It was quite the sight, and the blond elf came under a spell of distraction. Fingon watched lovingly as the spell was broken when Erestor stood up and wrapped his arms around Glorfindel.

“Thank you, for all the work you did, Fin. It was delicious and wonderful and I love you for thinking of me in this way.” Glorfindel’s face lit up as though from within at the praise and affection.

Fingon beamed, having hoped that Erestor would remember his manners (it was not always guaranteed once a second bottle of wine was open). A smile of approval greeted the sight of a passionate kiss being placed on Glorfindel’s lips. Except, there was something amiss, and the golden head drew back in surprise.

“What is it?” quipped Erestor, puzzled.

“Nothing,” Glorfindel rushed to answer. “Well, not nothing, it is just...I do not think I have ever kissed after all of us ate so much garlic. I was not...prepared.” Soon the three of them were snickering like elflings; it was all in good fun. And to be fair, the pungency from the minced and nearly uncooked parts of the main course had been quite...intense. Not to mention, the sharpness of the blue cheese brought about its own unexpected aftertaste.

“Dragon breath,” deadpanned Fingon.

“If you are going to call me that, it will not be my fault should an accidental belch waft your way.” Erestor batted his long eyelashes in emphasis.

“Oh, not that,” begged Glorfindel. “I worked so hard on this. Do not make me feel bad.”

Fingon relented and apologized to Glorfindel, but decided to avoid surprises. There was nuzzling and cuddling, but no more lip contact. They read, they conversed, they slowly finished their bottle of wine. Dishes were set in the basin to soak overnight, but it would be little enough work in the morning; everything from pot to plate was as good as licked clean. Preparations were made for bed, but with no one wishing to kiss tonight, donning sleeping pants seemed like sound reasoning to Glorfindel. The odds of them needing to come off were looking dim, as the degree to which all of them (but especially Erestor) were positively reeking of garlic seeped past their sensitive nostrils.

Fingon now worried for the lovely ellon’s feelings as he readied himself for bed, sitting on the floor in mindful meditation, and obviously considering the past few hours. “Glorfindel, it was a wonderful dinner and a thoughtful gesture. We are perhaps just learning that consuming so much garlic at once is its own form of an experience. I for one would enjoy a similar meal again.”

“Do you really mean that?” The blue-green eyes looked at him searchingly, from across Erestor’s supine body.

Erestor held the hand that rested on his chest, rubbing it reassuringly. “Though I did not speak the words, I feel the same. I really mean it,” he added. “It was delicious, Fin. But, they do not call it the Stinking Rose for nothing.”

“I have never heard that term,” said Fingon as he tossed his robe over the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and playfully tugged at the corner of the quilt before joining them. “What silly words you brought back from Middle-earth.”

Erestor shrugged. “The bottom line is, garlic is...garlic.”

“True.” Glorfindel kissed Erestor on the cheek, then leaned over him to give Fingon the same. “Good night.” The three ellyn quickly fell asleep.

The first disturbance to Glorfindel came in dreams. It was a grievous memory; the battle of Nirnaeth. Snatches, impressions, flitted through his sleeping mind. The dragon, and the injuries that had cost him his health and eventually his life, had not something else come along to end it a little sooner. And oh, the reek of the creature! The rank foulness of the decay of Morgoth surrounded him; his body struggled to breathe. Choking. Pain. Cannot draw air...he sat bolt upright in the dark, to find that the stench of the dragon was real. Except...no, that made no sense. An unfortunate noise escaped from underneath their shared blanket, and the mighty warrior was left in obscurity no longer as a fresh wave of stench wafted his way. Heedless of the nighttime chill, he launched to open the window, managing to soundly stub his toe on the nearby chair.

“Ow! Ow! Just, fuck! Ow!” Glorfindel did his best to curse as quietly as possible after the crashing noise, while still hopping to the window latch. He leaned over the desk to fumble with it and suppressed his curses in the hopes he would not wake the others. Once it was flung open, he inhaled the sweet air that rushed to his lungs. “Oh! Air! So good, fresh air…”

“Fin?” came the sleepy whisper, before it turned to a choking retch. “Fin!”

Glorfindel spoke from the window that he was unwilling to leave. “Over here, quick. It is not so bad--”

A horrifying burst of flatus now came from Erestor’s sleeping form, promising fresh torment. Fingon threw the bedcovers aside and fled to join Glorfindel, gasping for air.

“I did not think this was possible,” Fingon whispered. “I mean, that...what is happening over there. THAT,” he gestured to Erestor, fanning the outside air into the room.

“I know,” Glorfindel murmured miserably. “I am afraid this is my doing. It has to have been all that garlic. He ate three times more than either you or I. I am sorry, ‘Káno.”

“No, no, no ‘sorry’ from you,” the loving elf replied. “That being said, I--”

A flapping, percussive noise of impressive duration interrupted Fingon’s sentiment, and within seconds the room was newly awash in a fresh miasma of sulfurous fumes.

“Or maybe it was the cheese?” Glorfindel questioned, eyes watering a little, now that a distinct note became detectable amidst the wretched bouquet. “The more I think about it, it must be. I learned from Elrond that garlic helps this problem, not the other way around. Though, it could be adding to the, uh, scent.”

“You are not seriously going to stand here and analyze this in the middle of the night, are you?” Fingon demanded with incredulity, though he kept his voice low. “Fin, we will never sleep with this going on. While I am fully aware that you are not simply a man of leisure during the daytime hours, I have a library to run and a full schedule of meetings and events come the morrow.”

“Well, what do we do? Wake him? Carry him to the sofa and leave him there to defile the downstairs air? Sleep on the lower floor ourselves?” Right now, Glorfindel simply felt sorry he had ever even considered making garlic bread.

“There is always my den.”

Glorfindel pulled a face, but it was hard to determine whether it was due to the suggestion, or the latest bombastic blast from beneath the quilt, and the renewed rank reek that followed. Glorfindel pinched his nose, but coughed on the taste, perceived or real, and stuck his head further out the window, bent over the desk to reach. It might almost have been seductive if not for the putrid fetor that now seemed tangible. “With our luck, the smell has already invaded and permeated your haven,” he said of the alcove Fingon had, with its mounds of pillows and fur throws in an inviting curtained corner. “No doubt the guest rooms and library are right out, too.” A sharp tweet of a sound came from behind them, almost as if confirmation of Glorfindel’s assumptions.

While Fingon pondered their next steps in silence from the blessed proximity to the open window, a groan of discomfort came from sleeping Erestor, who twisted to turn on his side, freeing yet another rush of wind.

“Is he in pain?” Fingon and Glorfindel looked up at each other in surprise, having spoken the same words at the same time, and with the same tones of concern. And in the same shared understanding. Yes, the odor was fetid and not welcome. Yes, it was most inconvenient and quite frankly, gross. But this was also the ellon they both loved, and if he was hurting, that exceeded all other considerations.

“There is a tea I can make for him,” Glorfindel recalled. “I will start now; it will take a few minutes. It should give him relief, and maybe us, too.”

“What can I do?” Fingon asked.

“You could massage his belly. Like this.” Glorfindel stood in front of Fingon, and brought his hand around to his own abdomen, guiding his movements. “Start at his navel. Then rub in circles like this. Gentle pressure.”

“Sure, leave me on the battlefield,” teased Fingon gently.

“I could give you the recipe for the tea,” Glorfindel offered. “I mean, I was the one who made the meal. I suppose I should really stay here in the, ah, thick of it. Fennel seeds, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger. We have all of those things. And honey, too.”

Fingon shook his head. “I can do this. Your outcry woke me, else I might have slept right on through. You have no idea what having multiple younger brothers can prepare you for in life,” he added.

“Do not be surprised if you get...more...results.”

“I will manage,” Fingon assured, though not without a grimace.

Another groan of hurt disturbed Erestor’s sleep, punctuated soon after by another...outburst. Fingon went to him, and carefully turned the dark elf’s body so as to care for him. He whispered softly: “Sweetheart, you are quite stinky right now. But I have faced a balrog, and I can certainly manage this, for love of you.” A kiss was placed on his forehead, and then a gentle hand went to do its work. He could not help but giggle and snort when another fart answered his outpouring of love. The situation was utterly ridiculous, and yet he found that he did not care.

Time ticked on, and with no immediate relief in sight, Fingon rubbed Erestor’s stomach with one hand and wiped at his nose with the other. Whether the effects were psychosomatic or not, he had to come up with something to distract himself from the wait. “The last time I recall something this vile was a long, long time ago when Maedhros, Celegorm, Aredhel, and I went out for an afternoon hunt with Huan. We were crossing a log bridge, and Huan acted like such a puppy we never thought of his weight. He bounced across after the rest of us made our way, and down we went!

“Even that would not have been so bad, but we landed right into a nest of skunks, and it just had to be scent lesson day. I managed to narrowly escape their wrath, but none of the others were so lucky, least of all Huan. By the time they reached me, they had been sprayed no less than four times. So we made our way back to my grandfather’s house, because it was close, and there was no way we were going to go to any of our parents about it. Another tragedy befell us as we found our way back. There was a very small pond not far from the path, and Huan decided to try to rid himself of the smell. He leaped into it, and it drenched us all - and it was stagnant and there was some sort of dead animal that had died in it and it was disgusting. I remember gunk being in my hair and needing to wash it repeatedly to get it all out. I suppose I would not have had that problem now,” he realized, and he took a moment to run a hand through his short mane, other hand still upon Erestor’s stomach.

“Now, you might think that was all terrible enough. But it got worse. We were close, so close, to reaching the house. We could see it in the distance. We should have run for it, but we were all so tired. Except Huan. He saw a flock of nesting seagulls in a field, and he just had to get them all up in the air, because that is where birds belong you know. So there he goes, Celegorm lets him run - then realizes where he is headed, and Celegorm gives chase. Aredhel knew it, and she took cover beneath a tree, but Maedhros and I, we bounded after Celegorm. You can guess what happened next. All three of us, trying in vain to cover our heads with our arms, clumps of bird droppings covering us. It was horrible. And terrifying, because they just kept circling and diving at us and shitting on our heads. And do they ever stink! Seagulls are the rats of the skies; never let anyone tell you different. I pitied those poor maids my grandfather employed. As soon as he opened the door, he directed them to fill wooden tubs out in the fields and to take us to be ‘disinfected’. I was bathed in so many things, so many bubbles. My skin was practically raw by the time they were done with me.

“I felt worse for the others. Once the maids figured out I was not skunk-stinky, they concentrated the majority of their efforts on the others. Did you know, tomatoes are not as effective as everyone seems to think they are? It was a bit amusing to see Celegorm flail about while the butler tried to hold him still and a pair of maids took turns squeezing and rubbing soft tomatoes all over him. I do know that once it was over, Huan never smelled better, but it was not something to relive for that pleasure.”

About fifteen minutes and many small eruptions from Erestor later, Glorfindel returned to the room, bearing a single hot mug of tea. His nose wrinkled involuntarily against the ongoing assault. “We will have to rouse him, at least a little. He will need to sit up to drink. I have cooled it, so that he should be able to take it quickly enough.”

Fingon adjusted Erestor, who began to wake. “Whassit...Valar, what is that smell?” he moaned. “My tummy…”

“I know, baby, I know. I have a tea that will help you feel better.” Glorfindel placed one hand behind Erestor’s head and used the other to steady the mug. “Drink.”

Hazed as he was by sleep, Erestor only registered that the spicy and sweet tea did not taste too bad, and he very much liked the soothing rubbing of his belly. He did not feel any need to break wind in the short time he was awake, so he really did not realize…

When Glorfindel felt he had taken enough, Erestor was allowed to lapse back into full sleep, still lulled in Fingon’s arms. “He is beautiful,” Glorfindel said with yearning.

“We are all beautiful, my golden-haired love.” Fingon stifled a yawn. “And now maybe we can even all sleep.”

Glorfindel smiled, and helped ease Erestor’s body to return to fully lying down. He reached for Fingon’s arm, as they both snuggled again against him and brought up the covers.

“Flurppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp,” broke the silence.

Glorfindel and Fingon both shook with helpless laughter, clinging to each other over Erestor’s body. If they wrapped the blanket more tightly around all of their chests while kicking the coverings upward further down, who could blame them? The window was yet open, and it was...bearable. It also proved to be the last disturbance; all three fell into deep sleep.

*****

Erestor cheerfully poked the fire back to life, preparing to heat the water for morning tea and porridge. Some minutes later, once the kettle had reached a cheerful simmer, two groggy ellyn descended from above. Both approached within a short distance of Erestor, staring at him as though he were a scientific curiosity.

“How do you feel?” Fingon asked cautiously.

“Fine,” Erestor answered, an air of suspicion gathering around him. “How do you feel?” he returned, baffled as to the first question’s origin. He blamed the amount of wine he consumed the night before on his inability to recall whatever Fingon was apparently inquiring about.

“A little tired,” Fingon grinned. “I found that my sleep last night was somewhat restless.”

Glorfindel hastened to measure out the uncooked grains for their meal, lest he lose all composure. He bit his cheeks in order to stifle a smile.

“Oh. I am sorry to hear that,” Erestor said honestly. “I had such lovely dreams.”

“Really?” Glorfindel interjected. “Do you remember what they were?”

Erestor hesitated, but felt compelled to avoid his lifelong habit of lapsing into secrecy. Fingon watched as Erestor tucked a dark lock behind his ear, sensing a struggle but not wishing to disturb the moment. “Maybe ‘lovely’ is not the best word,” he confessed, his dark eyes looking down. “The images were very blurry. Just impressions, really. I was being….held somewhere. Somewhere unpleasant, and I hurt. I could not see; either it was dark or my eyes were bound. I felt lost, and miserable. And alone.” He paused, finding it very difficult to keep speaking, though he could not pinpoint why. “But then it changed. I was being cared for. Someone or something comforted me. Touched me, but chastely, to help me feel better. I felt...loved. Very, very loved. And it was a singular...entity, but I felt as if it was...both of you, embodied together..” He shook his head. “And that is probably about the stupidest thing either of you have ever listened to, first thing in the morning.” He stared into the fire, in some attempt to master emotion that should not have been so strong.

Glorfindel was at his side. “Not stupid. Not stupid at all, ‘Ress.”

“What he said,” Fingon added, joining Glorfindel in sandwiching Erestor into a hug.

They broke apart, and a smile formed on Erestor’s perfect lips. “Dinner was so good last night. Thank you again for that, Fin. And that wonderful cheese…” His expression turned wistful. “That could be really good, crumbled atop scrambled eggs. I wish we had more of it for breakfast.”

“No, you do not,” they chorused together.

“Why would you say that?” Erestor inquired, now wondering if his partners were quite alright this morning.

“Because we love you, Erestor. Because we love you.” Fingon traced his hand lazily over Erestor’s shoulders. Glorfindel nodded in agreement, while busily stirring the cooking grains.

The kettle screamed its completion, and Fingon filled their teapot with the boiling water.

“Do you know, I still have to dig up more garlic?” Erestor murmured. “I suppose I should do that after breakfast, so it can start curing. Soon enough it will begin raining, and I can not have it getting wet out there.”

“You do that,” Glorfindel said, kissing the crown of his head as he poured the tea.

Fingon smiled. “Yes. Do. Would you like any help before I whisk myself away to the world of academia?”

“No,” Erestor smiled. “I know you have a full day ahead. But thank you for offering. Maybe then we can have more garlic bread?”

Glorfindel looked up, seeing the hopefulness in Erestor’s eyes. “Of course we can. But next time I would very much like to try it without the cheese. Would that be alright with you?”

“I would like that,” Fingon added, hoping he was not being painfully obvious.

Erestor thought for a moment. The cheese had been completely wonderful, and had added such flavor and texture…”Whatever you both would like. I will appreciate it either way. You have often enough done things just for my benefit.”

“We will not steer you wrong,” Fingon said softly, speaking about so much more than cheese.

“I know,” Erestor smiled, completely oblivious. “And thank you.”


End file.
